Getting Shot Hurts
by fuzzy-grapes
Summary: A patient is dying, House wants to do clinic duty, Foreman gets a pay raise, Chase needs to be more Australian, Cameron is ... Cameron, Cuddy is curt and Wilson suspiciously ends up in every scene. Rated for inapropriate humor and oocness.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! This is my first House fanfic and that is my excuse for its copious amounts of both crap-ness and ooc-ness. Nonetheless, it is cheap therapy and the only thing keeping me sane. So, I hope you at least find one line in this vaguely amusing. R&R, y'all! (If you even do that in this fandom..?)**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own House, I do not own Eminem. Please don't shoot me. Just for the record, a pie floater involves a meat pie floating in pea soup. No, I don't want to try one, either.**

* * *

"35 year old male," Chase fired at House. "Bullet wound in chest, massive internal bleeding-"

"Gee," House said in a patronizing tone of sarcastic-bewilderment. "You don't think he might have been … er … what's the medical term for it? Oh, yeah, shot in the chest?" He took a handful of pills, swallowing them with a flourish of his cane. "Check the patient's skin. If it matches Foreman's, we got ourselves on of dem fully gangsta homies, yo!"

He made a complicated finger symbol at Foreman.

Foreman ground his teeth and sighed impatiently, sick to death of House's racial jibes.

House coughed slightly. "Er, I mean, a victim of a drive-by shooting. Duh."

Chase shook his head. "It's not that simple, mate," he told House, smoothing down the large Australia-shaped badge affixed to his pink and blue striped silk shirt.

Cameron sighed deeply. "Good point. It never is, is it?"

Foreman murmured his agreement.

House swallowed a handful of pills, simultaneously spinning a yo-yo, playing his gameboy and swallowing a handful of pills.

Oh, and listening to his hench-people debate the case.

He looked up briefly to find Chase and Foreman discussing their weekend while Cameron gave Chase a lap dance, occasionally interjecting psychologically probing questions into the conversation. Oh, and Wilson was there too. Wilson was always there.

House swallowed a handful of pills, going back to his game.

What patient?

* * *

"I have the results," Chase said, walking into the office. He waved a small piece of paper. "He's not black. He's Caucasian." As an afterthought he added, "Mate."

"Excuse me?" House reprimanded. "I believe the technical term is white."

"And the internal bleeding is getting worse," Cameron reminded them. "We have to do something!"

"We have to do something!" House mimicked. "What do you think we are – rabid hookers with uncontrollable sexual urges?" He swallowed a handful of pills. "Run the test again."

Cameron blinked in bewilderment. "What test?"

_Didn't _anyone_ listen anymore?_ House swallowed a handful of pills. "The pregnancy test. I mean, bullet hole in chest – we can't rule this out as a birth relating to some alien affair the guy's had."

For a few seconds, the only noise in the room was the clattering of House's pills as he swallowed a handful of them. Everyone was staring at him – except Chase, who was staring into his coffee cup.

"Starbucks?" Chase wondered out loud. He swilled it counter-clockwise, clock-wise, sniffed it then took a mouthful. "Definitely."

House crashed the car. _Dammit._ The game emitted a "Game Over" bleep and reset itself. House sighed. Never could perform under pressure.

"Okay," Wilson said, breaking the silence and cleverly deflecting attention back on the main plot of the story. "I don't know how you got through med school without being informed of this, but men can't have babies."

Okay, so it wasn't quite the main plot. So sue him.

"They can't?" Chase and House exclaimed in unison; one sarcastic, one confused.

"That explains a lot."

House took a handful of pills. "Extended metaphor, people." He turned to Foreman. "You re-do the test."

"And the bleeding?" Cameron queried.

House sighed impatiently. Bleeding, schmeeding. He was this close to getting a high score, his favourite soap was about to start, his yo-yo needed a walk and he needed more pills! "Give him a blood transfusion. Or a cup of tea. Actually, it depends on how bad the bleeding is … Just send him to the blood donor section. We don't want to waste blood!"

Cameron and Foreman left the room, leaving House and Chase alone.

Oh, and Wilson was there too.

Chase swallowed nervously and tried to surreptitiously smear some Vegemite around his mouth. The Australian government was suspicious that America was rubbing off on him … Something about his accent being tainted … and he needed his boss to be fully aware of the extent of his Australian-ness if he wanted that spot on the "So where the bloody hell are ya?" campaign.

"Are-ya," he muttered to himself, trying to inflict the emphasis on the vowels just right. "Are-ya. Ya."

House frowned suspiciously at him. "Did you mistake your mouthwash for your nail polish remover this morning?"

Chase jumped slightly. "What?"

House swallowed a handful of pills. "You're acting strange. Did you forget to put the disk in the hard drive this morning?"

Chase frowned. "I-"

House held up a hand, stopping him mid-word. "I don't have time for your nonsensical ramblings. I have a soap to watch." He swallowed some pills. "Chase, I need you to go to the library. There's a book there I think you'll find helpful. Just search on the catalogue under title for a book named 'Where Do Babies Come From?'"

* * *

Cameron and Foreman were examining skin samples from the patient in the lab. And, by that I mean that they were in the lab examining the skin. The patient was still in the operating theater, waiting for them to finish with his skin.

Cameron fiddled with the microscope. "Do you think Chase is acting strange?" she asked Foreman, with a hurried burst of emotion.

Foreman shrugged. "Kinda." To tell the truth, in his book anyone who was male and yet used a lemon juice rinse in their hair classified as weird.

"He offered me this thing called a 'pie floater,'" Cameron lamented. "It looked like vomit with blood in it. I was quite concerned for a while, then he told me it was some kind of edible goods from Australia. Once I'd finished dry-heaving I had to throw it out." She looked up. "He keeps calling me 'sheila', you know."

Foreman shrugged. "Australians," he said in a 'what-can-you-do' kind of voice.

They fiddled with their microscopes for a while longer, the air thick with companionship, concern and sexual tension.

"Hey," Foreman said, putting down the microscope and looking at the skin sample. "Chase was right about one thing, though. Look at this."

Cameron jumped up and had a look. Then she gasped.

Foreman nodded. "Uh-huh. The kid's as white as Eminem."

* * *

Coincidentally, at that very moment, House was jamming in his office to _Without Me._ Tapping his cane on the table in time to the drum beat and also tinkling an air piano, House was really getting in to it.

"_Cause it feels so empty without me," _he rapped passionately, swallowing a handful of pills.

Cuddy walked curtly down the hallway, feeling a slight tremor run through her stilettos. _Probably some pumped up kid with a new set of subwoofers._

She reached House's office, curtly knocking on his door. In one fluid movement, House packed away his air piano, turned off the music, downed some pills, finished his playstation game, downed some pills and put on his happy face.

Wait – wrong occasion.

Just in time, he re-arranged his facial features into that nonchalant-yet-tortured-genius expression that made the girls and/or Wilson love him so much.

"How many pills have you taken today, House?" Cuddy asked him.

House swallowed another handful. "How much Hollywood tape is keeping that shirt down – er, I mean, up?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, wondering how many packets of Hollywood tape she could buy with his salary, assuming he was no longer in need of one. "House, I asked you a question. How many pills?"

"Yeah, House," Wilson added.

House took a handful of pills. "General hospital is on. A little quiet would be nice." Suddenly his pager beeped. _Dammit._

"Would you look at that?" House asked them rhetorically. "I'm needed." He winked at Cuddy. "Good luck getting the shirt off tonight."

As House slammed the door behind him, Wilson sighed and shook his head. "Now would be a really good time for me to say something thought-provoking, amusing and also emotion-charged to close this scene with," he said. He turned to Cuddy. "On a scale of one to ten, how lame is my 'the chicken crossed the road and ended up in a hospital' joke?"

"Very," Cuddy replied, leaving.

Wilson shook his head, looking into the distance. "Appropriate, though. I mean, we are in a hospital."

**OOH SUSPENSE-FUL CLIFFHANGER!!!**


	2. Getting Ignored Hurts When Shot

**Wow, thank you all so much for your kind, kind reviews! I wasn't going to update this early but … I am. I don't like this chapter as much as the first one (it's kinda crossing over from parody to bad humor fic lol) but it was fun to write so I hope it's fun to read!**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own Paris Hilton, which should come as a surprise to you all. Or the movie Boytown, but you should all go out and buy it because it is hilarious.**

* * *

"Make way, make way!" Dr House weaved his way through the mass of people currently congesting the hallways of _his_ hospital. Not that he was overly possessive or anything, oh no, no, no. "Contagious cripple coming through!"

He faked a sneeze, hacked up a lung, took some pills, dodged a corner and fell into step besides Wilson.

"House," Wilson greeted him. A smirk spread across his face. "I was unaware that being crippled automatically put you in the 'highly contagious' category. Or is it bitterness you're referring to?"

"Actually, its cooties," House told him, taking a handful of Vicodin. "As long as you keep your hands to yourself, we should be fine."

Wilson coughed politely. "Excuse me?"

House stopped and raised an eyebrow, skulling back a small handful of pills. "You know the cane turns you on, Wilson. It's a good thing that being crippled isn't contagious – all those canes around … you wouldn't be able to control yourself." He took a handful of pills and made a face. "And you're an oncologist. Ouch."

Wilson shook his head and laughed. "It all relates to sex with you, doesn't it? You're like the immature 15-year-old kid trapped in the body of a 40-something year old man."

"Oh, stop flattering me." House grinned at Wilson; ironically or otherwise, Wilson had no idea. "Gotta go. My team is trying to diagnose a patient and I need to pee."

The milling crowds enveloped the limping doctor as he disappeared from view. Wilson tried to do the same thing and hide behind a convenient pole. Unfortunately, the camera was with him every step of the way.

Wilson sighed, putting his woe-is-me face on. "Why is it always up to me to finish these scenes off?"

* * *

House limped furiously through the throng of people, whacking a couple of ankles (and taking a handful of pills) as he passed. _Bitter? He?_

_Nah._

"Cameron!" he called. She turned around, caring surprise evident on her face. Cameron was always caring. Except for when she was being bitter towards him.

"Dr House," Cameron said. "The patient-"

"Nice bra," he told her, looking down. Waaaaay down. "Only your shirt is just covering the corner of it." He looked up at her outraged face. "Oh, sorry. You're _Cameron_ and I only do that to Cuddy. Gosh, so many 'C' names – Chase, Cuddy, Cameron … Wilson!"

Cameron frowned. "That doesn't start with 'C.'

"I know. I just saw him over there, behind that pot plant." House waved and took some pills.

She sighed and tried again. "The patient-"

"Forget that." House dismissed her train of conversation with a flip of the hand (surreptitiously swallowing a handful of pills). "What's with the herds of people? Epidemic? Cell phone addicts anonymous meeting? Cuddy doing a peep show – which, I might add, no one informed me about?"

"Oh," Cameron said. "There's just some celebrity waiting to get checked out. Like, Paris Hilton or something. Those people are her entourage." She looked deeply into House's eyes, ready to plead her appeal. "The patient is bleeding to death, House. We have to do something!"

House nodded and swallowed some pills. "Bleeding to death, you say? Maybe, er, _stopping the blood flow_ might be a good first step to take?"

He turned and walked off.

Cameron followed him. "But it's not that simple, House! It's not that simple!"

House turned around. "I know. I have clinic duty."

House didn't think a person of Paris's abilities should be merely dismissed as _like, Paris Hilton or something._ He had hired the heiress's … er … home movie for Wilson after his second divorce – a kind and noble gesture, in House's humble opinion.

Yep, he should be a saint.

* * *

"So," Cameron addressed Chase and Foremen. "What should we do?"

Foreman looked up from the chess game he was playing against Chase. "I don't know. Dinner and a movie? Anything out that you want to see, Chase?"

Chase considered, tickling his nose absently with a eucalyptus leaf. "What about _Boytown_?"

Foreman snorted, moving a pawn. "What is that, some gay porn film?"

"Oh," Chase said, inflicting a disappointed tone into his voice. "I forgot. You guys are _American._" Looking around, he leaned closer. "Hey, if anyone asked, on a scale of 1-10, how Australian do you think I am?"

Foreman considered. "Uh-"

"Look!" Cameron yelled. "Our patient is dying and House doesn't even seem to care! And all you guys want to talk about is our weekend plans!" She breathed furiously and swallowed some pills. "While we're on the subject, though, I kind of want to see _Music and Lyrics._"

"What you got there, Cameron?" Foreman craned his neck and leaned closer, looking at the little bottle in her hand.

Cameron looked at the bottle, too. "Oh … nothing."

"What are you taking, Sheila?" Chase asked. _No!_ he berated himself. _Ya. Ya. Are-ya._

Cameron looked at him strangely. "Oh … well … Cuddy gave me this book after I expressed my frustration to her about no one listening to me because I'm a woman and how hard I find it to work for a boss who doesn't seem to **care** about **anything** … it's empathy, right? So I can understand what he's going through and were he's been."

Foreman shook his head, snatching the bottle from her. "So, you thought you'd get yourself addicted to …" he read the label. "Childresn's Multi-vitamins."

"Well-" Cameron started.

Foreman held up a finger. "Wait. I'm not done." He turned back to the bottle. "Strawberry flavour."

Cameron shrugged. "Makes them go down easier. Actually, that reminds me. I need to return that book to Cuddy-"

"I'll do it," Foreman volunteered. After discovering that Cuddy had at least offered some advice to Cameron over her issues, he had decided to go and talk to Cuddy about some issues he was having with House. "I'll go now. You guys keep working on the case."

He took the book and left. Chase turned to Cameron. "You need any help getting that shirt off?"

She looked at him, her painful conscience evident on her face. "We really should talk about the patient…"

"He'll be fine. Actually, I thought maybe a good next step in the treatment would be to take action to stop the bleeding."

She nodded her head. "Actually, House told me the very same thing." She reached out her hand for a high five. "We're getting faster!"

Chase grabbed her hand and pulled her over to him. "Whatever. Come on, it's not a case without _someone_ screwing someone else."

**EVEN MORE OF A CLIFFHANGER!!! And, while we're on the subject, reviews make me happy … ::hint hint::**


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